Momentary
by Little Miss Maybe
Summary: It was a fact that he had never seen this man before in his life but something running far deeper, far thicker and sweeter than blood, had been triggered. And so as he looked at Yukimura with his earthly eyes and as his mind made common sense out of that nagging feeling of nostalgia, Masamune's heart seized at the intangible, the impossible. (SanaDate DateSana)


It was like drowning.

* * *

Masamune gasped out a choked moan as Yukimura sank teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, rolling his hips _just so_ that another abrupt cry was pulled from Masamune's lips. He fisted the sheets in his shaking hands, squeezing his single eye shut tight as the flood of distant emotions rushed over him, oozing down his cheek, an ugly reminder of what once was, of what would never be again.

It always happened like this.

* * *

It was not until Masamune's junior year of college that he met Sanada Genjirou Yukimura, and really, it was a wonder that they had escaped each other's notice for so long. They only had one class together - Japanese history - but the moment Masamune saw Yukimura walk in the door, something inside him roused itself from a deep slumber.

When he first gathered the courage to look the other boy - no, _man_ - in the eye, his body suddenly felt foreign. He could not explain it; it was as though his soul had been forcibly torn from underneath his quickly numbing skin. His insides felt raw, empty without a spirit to house, and flashes of lightning danced along his spine as if to celebrate the separation, the newfound freedom.

And maybe that was true after all, that his corporeal form was but a prison, not a shield or a fortress as he had thought whenever it had protected him from the minor offenses of flesh wounds - so too does a spider protect its prey in a maze of silk. His hollow self was vulnerable with its gaping lesion for now he had discovered the key to his cell, and perhaps it had not been a harsh shredding of his connection between body and spirit after all; rather, it had been a desperate escape, his soul clawing its way out of the finite pit of bones.

No matter - gazing at the man before him was chillingly surreal. It jarred him from the dull routine he was used to, caused him to wrack his brain for reasons why he had allowed himself to fall into this chasm at all. While all these jolts of reality shoved him this way and that, battering him beyond repair, a single revelation emerged from the confused coalescence.

He knew this man.

It was a fact that he had never seen this man before in his life but something running far deeper, far thicker and sweeter than blood, had been triggered and he _knew_, knew within his very existence that he understood this person. He understood him to a degree his brain could never quite grasp but his very being could not go on without.

And so as he looked at Yukimura with his earthly eyes and as his mind made common sense out of that nagging feeling of nostalgia, Masamune's heart seized at the intangible, the _impossible_.

* * *

The first time they had ever had sex was before either of them had mustered up the courage to acknowledge the feelings they had been dancing around for more than a year. It had not been a particularly special day, either. They had been at Yukimura's apartment, arguing about something - the topic did not even matter anymore, if it ever had, and maybe they had never argued for anything more than for the sake of riling each other up anyway - when Yukimura, wild-eyed with rage, had slammed Masamune against the nearest wall.

The words Yukimura had hissed hot in his ear were still clear in his mind: "If you continue to insist on being difficult, then I will _make_ you listen."

When that was followed by Yukimura's mouth crushed on his, Masamune could not have refused if he wanted to.

It was a blur after that; Masamune could remember stumbling into Yukimura's room, being shoved onto the bed, the half kisses that always seemed to be cut short by an open-mouthed groan or a desperate bite. It was savage and searing and _good_, so unapologetically _exhilarating_, to have Yukimura on him, in him, around him, _enveloping_ him, as if the heat radiating from every inch of his body would evaporate what remained of Masamune that did not already belong so absolutely to him.

And that was what Masamune blamed it on, later, when he lay awake that night next to the collapsed form of his rival, still trying to recapture the breath that had been ripped from him. A hand strayed to his cheek, his reddened eye, and he wondered when it was that he had let himself go to such an extent that he had allowed Yukimura to see him at his most vulnerable. It must have been the intensity, he reasoned, the sheer overwhelming nature of the situation - even now, as he stared up at Yukimura's ceiling, the scent of his rival was all around him, permeating every inhale with an odd familiarity, as if he had done this before (though he knew he had not). That must have been what caused those vague sensations, those strange flashes of- something.

That must have been why Date Masamune wept.

* * *

The next time was no mistake.

The following morning, before they had even bothered with collecting their scattered clothes, Yukimura had sincerely apologized for having "momentarily lost control." Masamune had laughed it off, saying that "there was nothing momentary about it," which led to a very messy confession on Yukimura's part.

"You are indeed correct," he had mumbled, looking down at his clenched hands as he sat back on his heels on the bed. "There is nothing momentary about what I feel for you. I have harbored a torch in my chest for you since the day we met. My heart burns for you more and more with every passing instant. I cannot-"

"Hey, hold on tiger," Masamune cut in. "That's nice and all, but can you hear yourself right now? You realize what you're saying, right?"

"Of course!" Yukimura replied with an injured expression. "I understand the implications exactly and I make no mistake in saying that you are the only one who can and will ever fill me with such passion."

Masamune gave him a long look. "Don't you get it?" he finally asked. "Why would you pick me when there're a million girls lined up waiting to hear what you just said?"

"Because I did not _pick_ you," Yukimura said shortly. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he so clearly held himself back. "I never _chose_ you. Love is not a _choice_, it is an instinct. I am bound to you, Masamune, and I could never sever such a tie, nor would I, given the chance."

"I can't believe how stupid you are," Masamune sighed. He carded his fingers through his hair absentmindedly, needing _something_ to do with his hands for fear of what the bubbling tension in his stomach would lead him to do otherwise. "_Instinct_," he repeated, scoffing. "That's the only reason."

Yukimura visibly bristled. If he were a cat, Masamune mused, Yukimura's tail would certainly be fluffed up. "Why is it so arduous for you to think yourself worthy?" he spat. "Do you truly have such a low opinion of me that you would believe me to choose someone inferior as my equal?"

Masamune stiffened at the accusation. He narrowed his eye to a slit, fingers catching in a stubborn tangle. "Red," he warned, voice low, "it ain't like that."

"Then what exactly is it that you wish to communicate to me?" Yukimura was unable to keep his tone from encroaching on rage. His fists clutched at the sheets, as if to tether him there.

They glared at each other for an indefinite amount of time. Yukimura's gaze held a fire Masamune had never seen there before; it burned hot but shallow, a threat more than a challenge, and Masamune had to wonder if he had ever seen Yukimura do anything halfway before.

Nevertheless, he looked away first, conceding the unspoken battle to Yukimura's steady stare. He was unsettled but would not allow it to affect him further.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, maintaining the quiet.

"You."

The single word hung in the air with such finality that the pressure of gravity seemed to increase. Yukimura's eyes flickered with a hint of their true color - white, searing, _pure_ - and Masamune could no longer ingest the thick oxygen. It was like liquid in his throat, suffocating rather than resuscitating, and he blamed the overpowering need to _breathe_ for why he suddenly found his mouth on Yukimura's once again.

Yukimura gave a strangled hiss as he was pushed down onto the mattress, still holding the sheets tight as Masamune straddled his thighs, tongue demanding reciprocation that was swiftly awarded. The sheets were eventually released as Yukimura's hands instead flew to Masamune's hair, his cheeks, his shoulders, down his sides, running over his ass, _pressing_ him closer with an animal whine and Masamune could do nothing but grind down against him, thanking whatever higher power existed in this world that had stalled them from putting on any clothes that morning. It made everything far more convenient and he honestly did not know if he would be able to handle buttons and zippers right now.

Not a word needed to be said; despite the fact that this was only their second time rolling in the sheets, it was as though their bodies were following a deeper will coded into their very DNA. Masamune groped for the bottle of lubricant they had tossed aside carelessly last night and managed to inch it into his palm without breaking the precious contact between their lips. His hands were always steady, always practiced and _firm_, but Yukimura was the exception, was _always_ the exception, and with him they _trembled_ - not out of fear, of course, but from something stronger that welled within him and purged him of the supports that normally kept the quakes in check.

But Yukimura, Yukimura would never let him be overcome by the waves. He held Masamune's wrist gently, despite the ferocity of all the rest of their actions, and took the bottle. He poured a good amount of lubricant on his fingers and Masamune groaned impatiently, rutting his hips into Yukimura's.

"Come _on_," he urged breathlessly. "We did it just a few hours ago, I'm _ready_. Just put some on your dick and let's _go_." To punctuate this point, he deliberately shifted up and pressed the curve of his ass against Yukimura's cock, drinking in the startled moan he got in response.

Nevertheless, Yukimura was stubborn and shook his head emphatically. "I would rather stop this instant than risk hurting you." How his voice avoided wavering was a secret Masamune would never learn.

"You sappy son of a _bitch_," Masamune grumbled. He was planning on adding something about liking the pain anyway, but the words mutated into deformed, half-finished cries as Yukimura's fingers nudged inside him. He squirmed around them, desperately trying to figure out an angle that would satisfy the longing within him, but they just _could not_ and he kissed Yukimura hungrily to pacify his needs for the moment (_oh_ how he had missed this, but what exactly it was he missed and why were questions that continued to elude him).

When Yukimura _finally_ stopped screwing around with his fingers and pushed inside him, Masamune's enthusiastic shout was devoured by Yukimura's mouth, lost in the heat of their embrace. He felt delirious, as if reality itself was being deprived of its meaning as every thick inch of Yukimura slid inside him, _scorching_ him, leaving him singed and marked and _claimed_.

It was then that those timeless sensations submerged him once more.

He could _feel_ it as he was swept away with the current but he was powerless to do anything about it. His body moved of its own accord, pulling Yukimura tight, _close_, flesh pressed to flesh, linked, _needing_ the connection, the touch-

He did not even realize the figurative water was also literal until Yukimura was rubbing the tears from his cheek with a smile that was affectionate in the most grating way, drops of salted rain peppering his face.

The sight twisted something deep in his chest - was he imagining the distant _snap _that rang in his ears as if it was right beside him? It vibrated his skull mercilessly, a discorded convulsion that made him _sick_, mouth dry, and his useless right eye - blind with a congenital repulsion to light - _throbbed_ with phantom agony, as if baptizing him of a torment he had never suffered, _should_ have suffered, was _still_ suffering.

His stomach heaved but despite the deluge roaring behind _both_ of his eyes he could only choke out shriveled gasps of dusty air and his head was reverberating with a faint chant, a lifeless mantra _clinging_ to his memory, quiet, _pleading_, begging to be let out (_love you, love you, love you, love you, love you, love you_)-

He pressed his forehead to the base of Yukimura's neck, lips helplessly molding the feeble words, _meaningless_ as they were scattered to the winds, for his heart would not slow enough to process it. He could not even be sure if they reached Yukimura at all but he continued his desecrated song anyway, a prayer without a melody, cacophonous incantations, disharmonious, disconcerted, _dissonant_.

The torrent continued to flow without pause.

* * *

That night, he drowned in red.

* * *

Masamune did not miss the concerned looks Yukimura shot him the next day. He pointedly ignored them.

He was confused, to say the least. The day before was hazy in his mind - he remembered the fight, the kiss, the sex, the tears. He remembered the humiliation that teased his face afterward, keeping his head down, mumbling something about needing to go home. He remembered fleeing like a coward from Yukimura's apartment.

He had felt the tension between them the instant they first met, could not have mistaken the natural pull between them, magnetic, _electric_, but now something was different.

Now he knew that what he felt must have been some kind of love, no matter how misshapen it had become. But what reason did he have for weeping? He could not fathom an answer, but he was inclined to believe that some explanation lay buried in the dreams.

He did not want to dig them up. He did not want to unleash another tsunami.

* * *

The days passed with a monotonous tune, flat, blending into each other without any separation between them.

Masamune avoided Yukimura with the care of a graceless elephant, clumsily darting into different rooms or taking alternate routes to elude him, occasionally even skipping meals altogether. Yukimura, in turn, frowned with concern but did not protest.

* * *

Fourteen days.

Masamune had been counting. It had been exactly fourteen days since he last spoke to Yukimura.

It was not meant to last, of course; Yukimura only had so much patience and it was on the fifteenth day that he cornered Masamune in an empty classroom the first chance he got. He did not even bother with a greeting before getting straight to the point.

"I desired only to respect your space," he began. "However, I must express my confusion. I do not understand this most sudden barrier you have placed between us and I think it only fair that I, as your equal, be given some amount of an explanation." His words were formal, even distant, but the tense jut of his lip and the squaring of his shoulders betrayed the blow Masamune's actions had made to his security in their unspoken relationship.

Masamune did not want to deal with this. He did not want to look into those hurt eyes or face the questions threatening him like knives. He did not want to see his blood-soaked dreams instead of the proud man standing before him.

He wanted to stop reality from crumbling along its fading course.

"It's none of your business," he found himself saying. A voice in his head murmured along, _Please leave before I do something I regret._ He silently told it to shut up.

Yukimura first flinched as though he had been struck - the reaction was nothing more than a minute jerk of his head and clench of his fists, but Masamune did not miss it. Nevertheless, Yukimura recovered immediately as an icy calm caged the writhing inferno threatening to escape. The uncharacteristic cold chilled Masamune and he almost shivered.

"It is very much my business," Yukimura replied evenly. The hard line of his jaw laced his words with fluid hostility. Something about the barely contained rage triggered a rush of images, of flashes of fire reflected in steel, of blood, thick and wet and _endless_, unforgiving as it stained all in its path.

Yukimura was speaking, saying something heartfelt, something _important_, but the ringing had returned and the hellish vibrations were driving the reason from his brain, driving his body to move, move, _move_-

Yukimura was up against the wall and the pressure of his lips against Masamune's. It could barely be considered a kiss; it was closer to the frantic flails of a man clawing to the surface of the ocean as salt pooled in his mouth, his nose, his eyes, _stinging_, harsh, abstractly beautiful violence.

This time, Masamune did not give in to the ache that demanded Yukimura satiate the emptiness inside him. He had learned that such impulses were poisonous - the all-too-familiar bile threatened his constitution at the mere thought. He suppressed it viciously as he tore at Yukimura's clothes, ignoring the startled shudder he received. Some ounce of reason must have remained in his mind because he paused in his ruthless assault long enough to slide his hand over to the right and click the lock on the door into place.

He mustered the courage to look into Yukimura's eyes - though he did not see them, not really - and explained with a clinical severity, "What I am going to do now is fuck you against this wall, Sanada Yukimura, and I really don't give a damn about anything else at the moment."

Indecision flickered across Yukimura's face, light-footed as quicksilver. Whatever misgivings he may have had vanished when Masamune pressed a thumb impatiently into the arc of his hipbone, fingers delicately teasing the contour of his ass. When the sharpness of his expression was fogged by a lustful glaze, Masamune knew he had won.

He stifled the bitter taste of iron on his tongue with the sweetness of Yukimura's mouth and hoped he was not suffocating Yukimura as well.

* * *

Masamune was hollow.

He now knew what it was like to be stripped of all that had pulled him together. The floodgates were open, cold and punishing, bringing him dreams that washed over his head and pulled him under with unforgiving hands.

He was drowning.

He could feel the water rising in his throat every time he looked at Yukimura. Every time he saw those bright eyes catch his gaze, his breath caught and he had to break the contact, whether that was simply turning away or tugging Yukimura close enough that he did not have to pretend, could just close his eye and mold his lips to Yukimura's, where they belonged.

More often than not, it was the latter. More often than not, lips turned into tongues and teeth and desperately clutching onto what little oxygen remained between them until one of them had enough sense to halt the progression until they had shifted somewhere more secluded.

Masamune did not allow Yukimura to penetrate him anymore. It was too intimate, too _vulnerable_; he had opened himself up to it before, had willingly exposed himself in the most personal manner he could, but had found himself empty in the end anyway and even Yukimura could not fill the unexplainable hole. It was just too _much_, the visions were too powerful, and he did not _want_ them anymore. So he distracted himself the only way he knew how: Yukimura. Ironic, that the only remedy to his torment was the source of it. Somehow, escaping into the arms of his rival soothed him, if only for the moment.

But as he slept, Masamune fell prey to the nightmares once again and the undeniable _ache_ within him took hold. It was the same, always - the first thing he was aware of every time was _red_, vivid crimson, scarlet leaking into everything he saw until it was but a blur of rust. Yet he was always painfully aware of something _just_ out of sight, _just_ beyond his grasp, but no matter how far he stretched his fingertips, he could not touch.

And then a _scream_, echoing through the air, harsh, sharp, _bloodcurdling_-

It took him several nights to realize that it was himself who was screaming.

* * *

One night, he made the mistake of allowing Yukimura to sleep in his bed after yet another whirl of confused passion. That was the night he realized his scream was muffled by the drenched coat of a body.

* * *

The red was burned into his worthless eye. Masamune began to wonder if it had always been that way, if the blood had cursed him at birth and stolen his sight from him, but he was only just now being reminded of the reason for his price.

Even so, the nightmares now haunted his waking hours just as frequently as they had skittered by his bedside. It was getting increasingly difficult to decipher if his single good eye was seeing clearly or if it was blinded by the smoke of the past as well.

Sometimes he looked at Yukimura and saw the swish of a coat that was turning, turning, turning _away_...

He pondered whether or not Yukimura would ever turn enough that he could see his face again.

* * *

Yukimura was uneasy. He was always hesitant in his touches now, fingertips hardly making contact, lips ghostly as they swept over Masamune's skin. He acted as though Masamune would shatter with so much as a careless breath. Ironically, his newfound timidness only made Masamune all the more savage with the reckless wrath of a wounded dragon, fearfully hiding a weakened defense with an offense of renewed fury. The fact that his supposed equal was treating him like broken glass only made the cracked veins cut deeper, only made the light that was supposed to pass through in confident beams fragment into frayed ends of stuttering waves and colors, drifting without unity, without purpose, divorced from a common thread.

He was asphyxiated without the violence of Yukimura's body against his, could only breathe when his mouth was enclosed by Yukimura's. But the waters would not recede.

He no longer forced Yukimura from his bed before he slept. He woke up alone anyway.

* * *

Every morning was a fight against the salted chains binding him to the ocean floor.

He drowned in transient silence.

* * *

He could not explain with reason why he woke up. He had not been conscious any of the previous nights when Yukimura slyly crawled from his bed while he slept and this night, logically, should not have been different.

But it was. It was.

Masamune's eye fluttered open as Yukimura was sitting at the edge of the mattress, pulling on his shirt. At first, he could not separate the dream from reality and the darkness of his surroundings lulled the red into black so subtly that he almost did not notice. It was Yukimura's stifled sneeze that broke his trance - such an insignificant event, one so entirely based on chance, yet without it, his limbs would have remained tied to the bed by the seduction of sleep. Instead, he sat up, rubbing his eye wearily to try to piece together what was actually in front of him.

"Yuki..." He hated the way his voice cracked when he was not fully awake. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yukimura?"

Yukimura visibly froze, but said nothing. The silence was irritating - too close to his dream, too lacking in evidence that he was alive, that _Yukimura_ was alive, that this was _real_. He bit back an angry shout and instead shifted closer. The blanket fell from his shoulders and he was _cold_, cold without the reassurance of the sun or someone close to his side, breathing, speaking, _living_.

He was going to drown. But he still selfishly clung to Yukimura, dragging him down with him.

Masamune was wrapping his arms around Yukimura's torso, nudging his nose into Yukimura's neck, lips pressing to Yukimura's skin (thanking God again for low collars), greedily taking in his scent, his touch, _needing_ to know that he remained anchored to this earth. Yukimura still said nothing.

"You planning on leaving again?" Masamune whispered. There was nobody around but the quiet was threatening and he feared breaking its hold. Perhaps Yukimura did too for he remained without reply.

Masamune did not like it. He did not like the stillness, the soundless void, the aura of death. They were supposed to be loud, _chaos_, vivid and colorful and always moving, never allowing peace to cool the animal spirit that kept them filled with the electric spark of a blade in hand and blood in the air. Death was none of that and Masamune was repulsed by it, disgusted, nauseated-

Terrified. Petrified. _Afraid_.

He tightened his grip around Yukimura. "Don't," he mumbled, praying that his voice did not sound as desperate as he felt. "Stay with me. Stay until morning this time."

Yukimura tensed. He finally opened his mouth, words hushed in the dark. "Masamune, we cannot continue this way."

"Then _don't_," Masamune insisted again. "Stay."

"It is not so simple," Yukimura murmured. He sounded tired, a soul-grinding fatigue that went beyond the exhaustion of the body. Where did his boundless energy disappear to? "You are hiding something from me. I may not have a right to know what it is, but I cannot pretend it does not bother me." He hesitated. "You cry out in your sleep."

A chill slid down Masamune's back. "What?"

Yukimura swallowed thickly and looked down. "Every night. You start tossing and turning and... and crying." He gave a heavy exhale. "You wept before, as well. The first time we... were together. And the second time too."

"That was," Masamune began, but his words died in the open air. He had nothing to say, no explanation for _why_ it was that Yukimura stirred such deep-rooted emotions in him, why he was haunted by a past he did not remember, why he could not make sense of the whirlwind of time, or even why he could not bare himself fully to the man he loved.

Yukimura did not wait for an answer that would not come. He gently - always gently, never rough, never jagged, never _angry_, _why was he never angry_ - nudged Masamune's arms from his sides and started to stand. The ringing, the godforsaken _ringing_ was disrupting the silence, hurtling through Masamune's head and he was yanking Yukimura down, hitting the bed on his back with Yukimura pulled on top of him, blood rushing in his ears, vision swimming (was the room black or red, black or red, black or _red red red red red_-).

His grip loosened and Yukimura was moving; he was struck by the frantic thought that Yukimura was still going to leave, was going to walk right out of his room and never come back again. But Yukimura just rolled to face Masamune properly, steadying himself with his palms on the mattress, and this was _serious_, but all Masamune could do was stare at those beautifully parted lips.

"_Yukimura_," he whined, bringing a hand up to thread his fingers in Yukimura's hair. "Stay, just stay." _Please_.

Yukimura gave him a long, clouded look, _yearning_, as if he were a starving man contemplating a poison apple. It was that expression again, so foreign, so _wrong_ on Yukimura's face, lacking the heat that had drawn Masamune to him in the first place, instead enveloping him in a frost he had not anticipated. He did not like it, not at all. His breath was catching again, the dreams that had been gnawing at the edges of his consciousness were starting to renew their efforts (was Yukimura's skin deathly pale or was that just a trick of the dark?), he was sinking, sinking, _sinking_...

(Descending, tumbling, falling, plunging, plummeting, _drowning_)

Masamune jerked his hand down, pulling Yukimura's lips to his own with the agony of lungs shriveled, useless, yet _bursting_, unable (or unwilling) to digest oxygen on their own. But even as he made his anguish clear, Yukimura did not respond with his usual spark of passion. In fact, he found his fingers slipping from Yukimura's too-neat ponytail as those lips left him, that bittersweet smile pulling away, those melancholy eyes, that fragile face, leaving.

Yukimura covered Masamune's empty hand with his own, holding it with a delicate touch that made Masamune want to crush every bone in his grip, how _dare_ he show such insolence to the _One-Eyed Dragon_-

That train of thought sputtered off into nothing. He could not allow it to continue.

"I cannot do this," Yukimura said slowly, meeting Masamune's eye with his most earnest gaze, a genuine care that overcame the cracks betraying a breaking heart. Masamune should have argued, should have stopped him right there because this was so _stupid_, he _needed_ Yukimura, why was this _happening_, but his mouth simply would not move. He was trapped in that look.

"Masamune," Yukimura continued, pausing frequently but with caution rather than hesitation. "Let me be clear first and foremost that I trust you. I would put my life in your hands in a heartbeat, I would walk this earth blind if I had but your voice to guide me alone, I would rip my lungs from my throat if you so ordered. But this, this is..." His fingers curled tighter around Masamune's hand and he realized he was not the only one who did not want to loosen his grip. "I place your well being above all," Yukimura confessed, that painful smile only growing. "I fear that these meetings are self-destructive and so I must take responsibility. It is my duty to end them."

_Wrong_. Yukimura was wrong, that smile was wrong, those words were wrong, that distant touch was wrong, his voice, his expression, _everything_, wrong, wrong, wrong, _wrong_...

The revulsion spasmed from deep within, twisting and spitting and clawing until Masamune could not even recognize it. It urged him to _do something_, but a force even greater had him paralyzed, a fluttering beat of anxiety, of bitter _fear_, that kept him in place.

The revelation that he had become a coward did not sit well alongside the stirrings of powerless repulsion. This was unnatural, a blasphemous shadow of his former self, a weakling who keened and whined and _begged_, a child hoping to wear the armor of a knight, stumbling, tripping over chain mail that dragged and tangled on the ground, blinded by a visor that hung far too low, and yet still he claimed to see. How could a man ever stand proud and tall when the weight of his own plates on his shoulders turned traitor to join gravity's ever-present struggle of crushing him to the surface?

Yukimura whispered a cool kiss across his forehead but it did nothing to ease the fever under his skin. "Be well," were his parting words, "I love you."

Masamune did not hear them. His ears were clouded with the incessant ringing. Yukimura's back was retreating but he was so far under the waves that he could not see the figure for the water.

The bile was rising again, threatening to overflow. He could not be sure of how much time had passed since Yukimura left him (_again_, a soft voice reminded him cruelly), but eventually the sickness overtook him and he found himself hunched over the toilet, gagging and heaving, cursing the memories, cursing Yukimura, but most of all, cursing himself.

It was only when he sat back on his heels - leaning pitifully against the wall for support with the bitterness still on his tongue as he tried to breath through the stench and the lump in his throat - that he realized he could remember.

He was Lord Date Masamune. He was the One-Eyed Dragon of Oshu.

* * *

He came to understand that he was still Date Masamune, but he was by no means the One-Eyed Dragon, the Lord of Oshu.

He had no taste for life anymore. His days were bleached, sunless and cold. He fought the current every day to get out of bed and go about his business, just to continue, just to hang on and not get swept away with the tide.

But it was meaningless.

* * *

The dreams were gone. They had taken on the shape of reality.

* * *

On the rare occasions that he saw Yukimura, Masamune silently wished him well from afar. Perhaps it was for the best that they be separated after all. Yukimura seemed happy enough and Masamune would not have forgiven himself for taking the bliss of ignorance from him. Not again.

* * *

He should have known that he did not have the strength to maintain his resolve.

He cracked over time, little chips of will dusted off quietly, brushed and polished down by weeks and months of shapeless nothing. He could only hold fast for so long as he had not retained the discipline of a soldier. It was in this weakened state that Yukimura came to him and he hit his limit.

He had been preparing for bed - by which he meant a night spent in restless oblivion, for he no longer slept - when there was a knock on the door. He should not have been surprised to find Yukimura standing there on his doorstep, given his luck, but he was.

"Good evening," Yukimura said with a shy smile.

Some of Masamune's confusion must have been obvious because his former lover started fidgeting with his ponytail, curling the long strands between his fingers. It was a habit Masamune had picked up on long ago - Yukimura was an emphatic speaker and subconsciously used exaggerated gestures when he spoke. This also sometimes came out when he was thinking too hard, so he had developed a way to distract his hands when he was not paying attention to them for the sake of anyone within arm's length. Masamune was, perhaps irrationally, soothed to see such a familiar detail. It recalled better days, the times they had been free to spend an entire afternoon laying on a hillside with the sweet aroma of grass all around them as they conversed about nothing in particular. He had forgotten that not all of his memories were drenched in blood; it was a shame that those more peaceful times had been blurred into the background by the gore.

"Yukimura." Masamune pronounced the name slowly, as if confirming the other man's presence. He leaned against the doorframe as he held the door open with his foot in what he hoped looked like a casual movement, crossing his arms with the barest hint of a snarky grin edging at his lips. He had his own habits too, after all, and feigned confidence usually morphed into genuine self-assurance seamlessly. "What're you doing in this part of town?"

"Ah," Yukimura could not hide the minute squint of his eyes that revealed surprise at the adopted persona, "I happened to be in this part of town, and I decided to... stop by."

They were both terrible liars and they both knew it. It seemed the era of brutal honesty had been succeeded by one of insignificant falsities that swirled around everyone's heads like flies.

Yukimura appeared to be a little distracted, glancing around everywhere but at Masamune himself. He eventually said, "Masamune, were you about to retire for the night? I could just leave if-"

"Wait," Masamune interrupted with a small frown, "where did you get that idea?"

Yukimura mutely glanced down at Masamune's waist, drawing his attention to the fact that he was in nothing but a large t-shirt and boxers. He felt his cheeks color faintly and added a quiet "Oh." They stood in awkward silence for several moments, neither willing to look at each other or say anything.

He should have taken that chance to turn Yukimura away. He could have just shut the door in Yukimura's face without another word. It would not have taken more than an easy step back and a single sweep of his arm.

Unfortunately, the fact of the matter was that he wanted Yukimura to stay and that was how he ended up with "Are you gonna come in or not?" tumbling from his mouth. Yukimura shot him another startled look so he added, "Well you wanted to chat, right? Might as well come in." He unfolded his arms and moved aside, figuring the empty doorway would make the offer obvious.

Yukimura nodded hesitantly. "If you are certain that you do not mind my presence disrupting your night." He bowed deeply. "Thank you for allowing me into your home. I am most grateful for your hospitality."

Masamune waved his hand dismissively. "Geez, don't go making a big deal out of it. You gonna stand there all night and let me waste my heater or are you gonna come inside already?"

"Yes, I apologize," Yukimura replied as he stood up straight, a tint of red on his cheeks as he walked past Masamune into the house.

An all-too genuine smile creeping on his lips, Masamune closed the door and led Yukimura to the living room. "Make yourself at home," he said, gesturing at the couch before turning towards the kitchen. "You want some tea or something?"

Yukimura shook his head, expression earnest. "No, thank you. I could not possibly ask you to extend your generosity any more than you already have."

"Suit yourself," Masamune said with a shrug. He headed into the kitchen and put some hot water on anyway. Yukimura loved tea, he recalled. It was a calming agent that smoothed the stress of a morning spar, the excitement of a battle well-fought, the despair of a difficult loss. He chided himself for getting too sentimental but still brought the teapot and cups out on a tray. Yukimura was sitting on the couch, looking around with wide eyes. The place was exactly the same as it had been the many months ago when he had last been there; Masamune was unsure of why he seemed so perplexed.

"So, what brings you here, Yukimura?" he asked as he set the tray on the glass coffee table and sat on the opposite couch. _Why now? _The questions plagued his mind. _Why not before?_

_Why at all?_

"I felt that it was time we addressed what occurred between us," Yukimura began, carefully avoiding Masamune's face in favor of adding sugar to his tea. At least he was still as straightforward as ever, though the lack of direct eye contact was bothering Masamune a little more than it should have. "I did what I believed was right - indeed, what I still believe was right. However..." He paused as he finished stirring his tea and tested the taste with a small sip. He was not satisfied and continued to add an abominable amount of sugar. Masamune nearly rolled his eyes - Yukimura's sweet tooth never ceased to surprise him. "I must express my frustration with the current situation," he continued.

Masamune narrowed his eye, wishing he could look into Yukimura's as he spoke. "Hey, you're the one who changed it in the first place. What did you expect?"

"I expected that we would cease our more- _intimate_ activities, but I do not remember specifying that we could never interact again," Yukimura explained with a frown. He began drinking from his teacup, seeming to find it acceptable. "We were rivals first and foremost, but I came to consider you my closest ally and my equal in every way. I do not think it is necessary to sacrifice such a cherished friendship for this ordeal." He was looking into his tea as he talked and Masamune wanted to knock the cup out of his hand.

"You didn't exactly radiate friendliness afterward," he pointed out, watching the way Yukimura's fingers tensed around the cup. "If you were looking for niceties, I didn't get the memo."

"This is not about 'niceties,'" Yukimura replied quietly. He was still staring into that damn tea. Masamune regretted bringing it out after all.

"Tell me what it's about then. I'd like to hear it." His tone may have been more hostile than he had intended and Yukimura developed that tell-tale knit in his eyebrows.

"This is about our _bond_, Masamune," he nearly snapped in response, "a bond that is as much a part of me as my own skin."

"Now you just sound like Ieyasu," Masamune said with a guarded smile.

Yukimura's nose flared but his glare remained firmly placed on the tea. "I am being serious," he said in a deliberately measured tone. "I treasure you as an equal more than any other being."

"Is that why you're not looking at me?" Masamune shot back, unable to keep the comment to himself anymore.

Yukimura stiffened, panic flashing through his face. It was in the slightest of twitches, a quiver of his lips and a strain of his neck; Masamune wondered if anyone else would have caught it. But Yukimura did not reply to the question and the anger was getting more and more difficult to contain. It coursed through his veins, tempting him to just give in and _punch_ this idiot in the face or _something_, whatever it took to beat some sense into him. He managed to contain the violence, but still got up, walked around the table, and stood over Yukimura. Without a word, he swiped the teacup and put it down on the tray, ignoring the startled "Hey!" as he cupped Yukimura's face in his hands, perhaps too harshly yanking the other man's chin up.

"If you really consider me your _equal_, than goddammit Yukimura, _look at me_," he hissed. His glare bored into Yukimura's round, vulnerable eyes, watched the exposed wound condense into crystals of ice, saw the rage surfacing in him to defend his open injuries as well.

"Let go of me," Yukimura said, still clinging to the thin veil of calm though it was already tearing.

Masamune's nails itched to sink into the delicate flesh under his palms. Yukimura's image was distorting, there was scarlet trickling down from his forehead, oozing from his mouth, pungent, consuming. Those eyes, those bright, burning eyes were glassy and cold, threatening to shatter any minute.

But then Yukimura's hands were covering his and those lifeless eyes were suddenly shining with concern. The red was swept away and Masamune realized Yukimura was saying something but he could not quite hear.

"Yukimura," he cut in breathlessly. His heart was pounding, the thumping was making it difficult to think but anything was better than the ring of deathly silence. Yukimura shut his mouth, staring quizzically up at him. "Yukimura, I need you."

Yukimura's face went red and Masamune found that it could be a rather attractive color as long as it was confined within the body. "Masamune, I do not understa-"

"I need you," Masamune repeated, uncaring that he was admitting to his own dependence. He was already a disappointment to his past; what was one more offense to his pathetic pride? He leaned down, touching his forehead to Yukimura's, breathing in that lovely scent of vitality. "I need you so much," he whispered. "I've needed you for so long, I've always needed you, _always_, I can't..." He floundered for the words but the only one that continued to rise was _need_ as it swelled in his chest. "I miss you," he finally settled with. "I've missed you so, so much." And really, there was _no way_ to convey the extent of how much he had missed Yukimura, no language of any kind that could explain the longing that had festered in his heart for years, lifetimes, entire _eras_ of helpless yearning. His voice broke and he could no longer speak for the emotions that clogged his throat.

Something like an intrinsic empathy flickered in Yukimura's eyes. He surmised that Yukimura _understood_ what Masamune was feeling but could not fathom why. It was reassuring, in a way, to know that something of their history still resided deep in the recesses of Yukimura's mind, even if he could not access it. But then Masamune was reminded of why it was that the past had been so painful to accept in the first place and he was flooded with a sense of guilt that dissolved all other competing emotions and loosened his tongue.

"I'm sorry." It was all starting to slip through his fingers. "I failed you. The one time it really mattered, I failed." His hands were shaking but Yukimura's were warm, were there to steady him, would not let go, not ever. "I couldn't, I wasn't- wasn't _strong_ enough to save you. I should've paid more attention, I should've done so many things, but I just _didn't_, I couldn't even..." He stopped, trying to breath slowly. "I couldn't..."

"Masamune," Yukimura murmured. His eyebrows were drawn together and Masamune remembered that he did not actually _know_ of their past, even if he felt it. "You never failed me. Not once have I placed my faith in you and been betrayed."

Such a statement was simply factually incorrect but how could Masamune possibly make Yukimura comprehend this? "I did," he insisted, low, secret. It was only the two of them. Only the two of them."I did. I let you- I let you _die_, Yukimura."

Yukimura's confusion became even more apparent, and rightfully so. "Die?" he repeated. "Masamune, I am fairly certain that-"

"_No_," Masamune cut him off. "No, it's..." Why were his words always so clumsy? He decided to start at the beginning. His hands were stilling as he leveled his gaze with Yukimura's. He could get lost in those eyes, but right now they were a lighthouse rather than an abyss. He could not afford to lose himself now.

"You," he began, "are Sanada Genjirou Yukimura. You are the Tiger of Kai, the Crimson Devil. You are a loyal vassal, a faithful general, a trusted friend. You are tireless in practice and courageous in battle, a fearsome enemy and a steadfast rival. You are a _warrior_, Sanada Yukimura. But, above all..." Here, he had to pause and shut his eye briefly as he marveled at the knowledge that he was breathing the same air as Yukimura once again. His eyelid sliding open, he finished with conviction - he had made his choice and there was no going back. He looked destiny in the eye and spat in its face for how dare it even _try_ to steal from the One-Eyed Dragon? It may have claimed half of his own sight once and still refused to return it, but Masamune would never allow it to take anything more from him. Never again.

"Above all, Sanada Yukimura, you are my equal and the man I have fallen deeply, helplessly in love with."

Yukimura's expression was at first one of bewilderment but Masamune could see the gears turning in his head. He needed one last push.

"A dragon can only soar for so long on its own," he murmured, his thumb gently passing over Yukimura's cheek. "Come back to me, Yukimura. Please come back."

At that moment, Yukimura seemed to experience a transfiguration as the jagged lines of his eyebrows and mouth softened, the ice in his eyes melted into a comforting flame, a warm flush painted his cheeks a beautiful crimson. It was an expression that could only be described as unadulterated _joy_, a profound and primal relief that could only be felt upon finally coming home after a long journey.

"M-Masamune," he breathed. He seemed to have trouble forming coherent sounds as the remnants of the ice collected in watery pools. "I'm _here_," he managed to say with a radiant smile despite the threat of tears. His hands left Masamune's in favor of snaking around his back to pull him into his lap, embracing him with the strength of the soldier that had broken the surface of the water and was taking his first desperate gulps of air. "I'm here, Masamune," he repeated in a whisper, "I was always here. The tiger shall never leave the dragon without companionship and likewise I shall continue to strive to be with you always for I can think of no greater honor than to be by your side."

Masamune found himself also fighting tears as he somewhat awkwardly shifted his legs into the more comfortable position of straddling Yukimura's hips, his nose burrowed in the crook of Yukimura's neck, his fingers curled tightly in the fabric of Yukimura's shirt.

"Asshole," he mumbled without bite. "You already left me once." Despite his inclination to hang onto the hurt that lined his statement, he was unable to ground the accusation in any genuine upsetness. It was silly - after the _hundreds_ of years spent wallowing in loneliness, he suddenly felt light with contentment.

"I never left you," Yukimura replied, picking back up the thread of conversation after Masamune had brewed a little in the peaceful silence (how strange that the quiet no longer held the menace of the dark but the calm of the light). "I was always there, watching over you."

Masamune snorted. "Don't start that spiritual shit with me right now. You know what I mean." He fisted Yukimura's shirt a little tighter. "You _died_, Yukimura." He let the gravity of that comment sit in the air for a beat. "And believe me," he continued, "I thought about following you. Every morning, every night. Every time I trained, every battle. I thought, what would happen if I just didn't dodge the next sword that came at me? What would happen if I went to bed and never woke up?" He forced a smile to keep himself from falling back into the pit of gloom. Those days were over now. "I didn't have the luxury of taking my own life. I had to be the leader, I had to protect my people. I had to be the great One-Eyed Dragon."

"Which is why I deemed it a worthy sacrifice," Yukimura pointed out softly. "You had too much to live for and too many people - husbands, wives, children, parents - who would be lost without your guidance. In comparison, my life was almost a laughable offering in place of yours."

Shaking his head, Masamune moved back to look Yukimura in the eye again. "When I said you're my equal, I meant it. Your life is worth just as much as mine, see, and I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you arguing about that, got it? You didn't have the luxury of dying either but you did anyway and I ain't forgiving you for that anytime soon."

Yukimura's subsequent pout was so adorable that Masamune almost considered taking that statement back. "I apologize most sincerely, although I realize that words are not nearly enough to make up for my actions. What can I do to prove myself to you so that I may earn your forgiveness?"

"Don't go leaving me again, okay?" Masamune said. "I'm not a lord this time around and when you die, I'm not gonna be sticking around either so don't be so eager to 'sacrifice yourself' or whatever because even if it's to save me, I'll be gone by the next morning too."

Yukimura smiled fondly and carded his fingers through Masamune's hair. "I swear I shall abide," he replied with a nod. "And furthermore, I ask that you hold yourself to the same expectation. I will not leave you and you shall not leave me."

"Let's get married this time," Masamune said abruptly. Yukimura seemed taken off-guard, his hand frozen midway through a lock of hair.

"Excuse me?"

"Let's get married," Masamune repeated with a grin. "I didn't even tell you that I loved you last time and that didn't leave me alone for the rest of my life. Let's do it right this round, since we can now."

Yukimura's face was painted scarlet again. He opened his mouth to respond but shut it again after a moment without saying anything. The steam was practically rising from his head. He eventually seemed to gather his wits and fumbled out, "I-I would be honored."

Smirking, Masamune leaned closer. "That's too formal, _Yukimura_," he murmured. "Just say yes."

"_Yes_," Yukimura breathed like it was the word of God and Masamune did not waste another second to share in the chorus of angels as he tilted his head and pressed their lips together. Yukimura gasped and his fingers knotted in Masamune's hair, matching him in the bruising kiss. Every inch of them pressed for more contact, more _heat_, to be reassured that they were _alive_ and what they felt was _real_. Yukimura's palm drifted down to support Masamune's neck against the forceful shove of their tongues, the other hand sinking into the small of his back. Masamune, in his attempt to somehow invade even more of his now-fiancé's space, shuffled an insignificant distance forward and ended up rolling his hips into Yukimura's with hopeless abandon.

They remained like that for a while, simply enjoying the easy rhythm, resetting the pace they had long lost a hold of. Shirts were removed the instant they managed to unlock their lips. The desperation had boiled down to a simmer that licked at their limbs with a comfortable flame, burning but not razing. They were content with cool fingers resting on a waist, others spanning out over a thigh, noses bumping playfully, hair tickling a chin and teeth to a collarbone, half-lidded eyes sleepy with full satisfaction just out of reach.

At some point, Yukimura shifted to the side and Masamune pushed him down onto his back. The gentleness was nice, rocking waves rather than punishing surges, but they were not creatures of calm. Tenderness was a fist and affection a scar and as soon as Yukimura's head hit the couch cushion, Masamune's tongue was in his mouth and his hips grinding down mercilessly. Yukimura molded to the change of pace like clay and he wasted no time in crushing Masamune's body down against his, his nails cleaving into Masamune's waist, mouth wide against the offending invader. He shoved Masamune's tongue back in its place and then his teeth were at those beautiful, full lips. The sting of metal only carved out his most basic desire for _war_ from its depths and Masamune retaliated fiercely as he bore down, using his position as leverage.

Yukimura, however, would not allow him the advantage and bit at the side of his mouth, at which Masamune recoiled but was not deterred. He decided to change tactics and

focused on the skin just below Yukimura's jaw with a cheeky lav of his tongue before dragging down to the expanse of his torso. Yukimura inhaled sharply as Masamune placed a kiss over his heart and then right in the center of his chest. He grinned and teased nips and licks here and there all the way down until he hit the waistband of Yukimura's sweatpants.

"You need to stop wearing these things," he commented as if they were making small talk at a coffee shop. "They're so out of style."

Yukimura huffed, a splash of red crossing the bridge of his nose. "They are practical for swift movement," he protested. "And you wear socks with sandals quite frequently!"

Masamune laughed (how long had it been since he had last laughed anyway?). "Yeah, you got me there. Honestly, I'm kinda glad you wore them - they're _way_ easier to take off." Giving Yukimura a sultry smirk, he tugged the pants down and eyed the obvious swell of an erection under his boxers with satisfaction. Yukimura wordlessly covered his face with his hands, seemingly embarrassed with the way Masamune was staring at it.

Masamune took the opportunity to lower his head and mouth at the fabric, maintaining his gaze trained on Yukimura's face. He forced back the smile threatening to curve his lips when Yukimura jumped and looked back at him through his fingers with an expression of utter disbelief; he had to keep his lips _wide_ as he attempted the impossible task of just swallowing Yukimura. It was fun to see Yukimura twitch and turn increasingly scarlet with every move he made, but the taste of cotton was drying out his tongue and he was getting sick of it. Casually pulling the boxers down, he immediately replaced his lips around Yukimura's cock and started sliding them down, working his palm against what he had not - or perhaps could not - reach.

He felt more than he saw Yukimura's head jerk back against the couch as hips canted up against his tongue. Fingers knotted in his hair, shaking with the effort to not just push him _down_ before he was ready - Masamune could tell because Yukimura's hand kept nearly buckling under the weight of his own desire and he greatly appreciated the self-control. Shutting his eye, he focused on loosening his jaw and the dizzying scent of his rival, his friend, his _lover_ all around him, the heady musk of sweat and lust, of ambition and hunger and _need_. He could not hold back a moan as he pressed his tongue to the underside of Yukimura's cock and Yukimura's hand made another aborted lurch down.

"_Masa_-" Yukimura's voice was cracking, high-pitched and shallow in his throat. "Please, I-" He cut himself off, probably with his other hand, as a whimper was dragged from him into the open air.

As much as he loved taking Yukimura apart like this (and really, it was ridiculous how true that statement was), it was not easy to swallow around something so large in his mouth and his jaw was starting to ache so he moved back up, leaving a teasing kiss on the tip. He then crawled back up and pressed his swollen lips to Yukimura's, groaning as Yukimura pulled him flush to his chest, hips rocking against each other once more, shamelessly exchanging saliva.

When Masamune came back for air, he began licking at the shell of Yukimura's ear, hissing, "_Fuck_, Yukimura, you're so- _shit_…" Yukimura was cupping his ass and pushing as if to flatten them against each other. Masamune squeezed Yukimura's shoulders for support. "I could fuck you _so hard_ right now," he gasped. "I want to open you up and just, just pound into you until you're _choking_ and even when I'm done with you, you'll feel me, every step you take, everywhere you go, you'll _ache_ inside, knowing you're incomplete without me, without my cock inside you."

Yukimura's eyes were glazed over, mouth wide as he fought for breath. "_Masamune_," he whined.

Masamune smiled weakly. "I'm not gonna though," he whispered. "Tomorrow- Save it for tomorrow. Tonight, I need you, Yukimura, I-" He shuddered, the yearning he had hidden for so long coming to the surface once again, unbidden but no longer unwanted. "_God_," he hissed, "I need you _so_ fucking _bad_, Yukimura."

Yukimura's eyes were alight with carnal fervor and he began fumbling with the waistband of Masamune's boxers. It was then that Masamune realized he was forgetting something. With great reluctance, he caught Yukimura's wrist, chuckling at the offended look on the other man's face.

"Hold up, tiger," he said, voice rough. "We haven't done this in awhile and as much as I want you to fuck me this instant, it's not gonna go in easy without any prep, you catch my drift?"

He could see the question forming in Yukimura's head. "Masamune…"

"I don't have any lube at hand, if that's what you were gonna ask," he clarified. "I wasn't messing around while you were gone. Wasn't much in the mood for it, see."

Yukimura's expression of minimal relief being devoured by utter despair was laughable. "I, I suppose, in that case, that I must go get some," he concluded shakily. Masamune nodded and the disappointment radiating from him was palpable.

"Better get dressed before you go," Masamune commented lightly as he moved off Yukimura and sat back on the couch. "Don't go showing anyone what's mine, got it?"

Yukimura glared at him as he grabbed his clothes off the floor and starting putting them back on. "It would have been preferable if you had alerted me of this ahead of time," he said, tone sour.

Masamune shrugged and pointed out, "Hey, I would've if you'd given me a second to think about it. I ain't happy about this either." Yukimura grumbled something about Masamune being the one to initiate the kiss without a plan, but trudged out of the room.

When he heard the front door shut, Masamune lay back with an irritated sigh. He figured Yukimura would be gone for about fifteen minutes, which was not particularly long, but, to put it plainly, he was alarmingly aroused. He had abstained from any activity even remotely sexual in Yukimura's absence, even when misplaced dreams of impassioned touches and stinging kisses still haunted him. He would regard them with apathy and then reject them. Now, it was almost embarrassing how quickly Yukimura had reignited his dying libido.

His apartment was too hot. He always kept it warm because he got cold so easily, despite Chosokabe teasing him for needing a heater during autumn. With Yukimura gone, he had kept the heat turned up a little higher to make up for it. It was a comfortable temperature for him. Nevertheless, he found himself sweltering in what had become an oppressive fever.

Covering the right half of his face with his hand to block out the light, he tried focusing on his breathing. He just had to make it through a few minutes, that was all. It was nothing to the hundreds of years he had waited before. Just fifteen minutes.

He began counting the seconds. _One, two, three_… The memory of Yukimura's touch on his skin made him shiver with chills entirely unrelated to the temperature. _Four, five, six_… Was it him or was there some kind of intense pressure in the room? _Seven, eight_… He could not move. _Nine_… It was more and more difficult to concentrate on the numbers. He gave up before he reached ten as he was reminded of Yukimura's mouth on his and he could no longer distract himself.

_God_, it had been too long. How had he ever convinced himself that he could live without Yukimura, without his other _half_, without the equal who completed him? He glanced impatiently at the clock but it was difficult to read - he could not concentrate on deciphering the position of the hands - and he had not taken note of when Yukimura had left anyway, so it was useless information.

His left hand had wandered up to his mouth at some point. He only noticed it when he realized his thoughts had trailed off into all-too vivid images of Yukimura kissing him, pressing him into the couch, grinding wildly against him with that animal look in his eye like he had been possessed by a demon and _shit_, Masamune's right hand was already shoving his underwear down, was on his cock, stroking, squeezing, the two fingers that had been contemplatively massaging his lip now plunging in against his tongue. He hissed at the sudden turn of events, helplessly bucking into his own palm as he desperately envisioned it was Yukimura's callouses he felt on his skin rather than his own.

He felt hollow again, but it was a bittersweet gnawing rather than the gaping chasm from just that morning. When a moan began to creep up from his chest, he shoved a third finger in his mouth to bar its path. He had been so _empty_ for so _long_ and where the _fuck_ was Yukimura with the lubricant - where was _Yukimura_, for that matter, sticky strands of loose hair flowing over his shoulders, puffs of air and wanton gasps echoing the fog of lust that huddled over him like a cloud, raindrops of sweat beading his forehead, his _neck_.

Masamune tasted iron, a sting in the joint of his left forefinger alerting him to the slow-burning pain of his teeth aiming to snap his bone in two. The thumb of his right hand swiped over the head of his cock and his head jerked back, groaning as though in agony. To be honest, he was no longer sure he could tell the difference between pain and pleasure anymore. With Yukimura, nothing seemed defined. Enemy, rival, friend, lover - as soon as they settled on a label, it became confused with all the rest, red and blue blending into purple. They had never been very good at coloring within the lines.

The one thing he could be certain of was that there was no color at all without Yukimura.

And maybe that was why fireworks seemed to explode in the darkness of his dead eye when he felt insistent lips nudging his fingers away to claim his mouth, a tongue diving into the small pool of blood that had collected there and savoring the salt like sugar. Masamune's breath tangled in his lungs - he had been so caught up that he had not heard a single sound outside himself but he did not linger on the surprise, instead leaning up and bringing his bloodied, saliva-soaked fingers to knot in the soft, endless brown locks he had dreamed of so many times.

Tilting his head sideways to better seal their mouths together, his right hand clumsily grasped at Yukimura's waist and shoved him down with a muffled cry as his erection was finally given the much-needed weight of another human being - and not just any human being, but _Yukimura_.

Actually, said human being was wearing far too many clothes. Did he not used to go around shirtless, in battle no less? Masamune missed the days when all he had to do was slide a coat off those shoulders. Maybe they would discuss it later. In the meantime, he had to focus on removing all those unnecessary layers, _again_.

Pushing him away briefly, Masamune began pulling at Yukimura's shirt. "Took your sweet time," he commented roughly.

Yukimura frowned, but it was a thin veil overwhelmed by too much lust to signify more than a passing annoyance. "I had difficulty ascertaining the location of the drugstore," he replied, still out of breath. Once the shirt was gone, Masamune pressed his nose to Yukimura's bare shoulder. His skin was superheated with sweat, pulse frantic, and Masamune deduced that he had run the whole way. "You are simply impatie-" His reprimand was cut short when Masamune tugged down his pants and underwear to palm at his groin. Gritting his teeth, he hid his response in Masamune's hair.

Masamune smirked, nibbling at the lightly freckled shoulder under his nose and then laying back once more. "Hey, I've waited hundreds of years for you and I'm officially done with it. Let's get on with it already."

Yukimura made a disgruntled expression, as if to argue, but seemingly gave up on it and tossed his pants across the room. He pressed a kiss to Masamune's cheek and murmured, "I am yours, always. Will you be mine as well?"

"Isn't it kinda late to be asking stuff like that?" Masamune asked with a lighthearted grin, swinging his arms over Yukimura's shoulders and clasping his hands together. "You've already taken me."

Yukimura shook his head, a small movement against Masamune's cheek. "In the past, yes. But in this era, you have not given yourself to anyone."

Masamune's fingers clenched in on themselves. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Hesitating, Yukimura leaned his forehead against the crook of Masamune's neck. "You still remain loyal to a memory that has long since wasted away," he mumbled, almost guiltily, like he should feel ashamed of his impressions.

"Yukimura, that's-" Masamune rushed to explain himself but Yukimura silenced him with a tight embrace, face still hidden in the skin under his chin.

"It may not have been deliberate, but you closed yourself off to me," Yukimura continued, quiet. "Twice - twice you wept as I tried to, as you said, 'take you.' You were not truly ready for such an intimate step and perhaps the fault lies with me. After all, I left you, I…"

Masamune swallowed thickly. "Broke my heart, yeah," he finished. "I just, Yukimura, these past few months, I can't _live_ like this." When Yukimura tensed at those words, he amended, "I mean, I can _survive_ I guess, but for what? I can't even tell the difference between when I'm awake and asleep. It's just like one long nightmare and I don't _care_ anymore, I just want _you_." It all came out in one breath and it was embarrassing how much his eyes - _both_ of them - burned with the salty threat of tears, but he refused to let them fall. His words, despite the impressive rate of his heartbeat, did not falter, did not pause for even a moment of thought. "I gave myself to you long ago and I do so again now. I love you."

He felt Yukimura's spasm in his arms. "I- I as well," he gasped. "I love you, Masamune, I-"

"Are you gonna keep sputtering or are you gonna shut up and fuck me already?" Masamune interrupted, perhaps callously, but to the point. He did not have the stomach to linger on so many complicated emotions at once; they had talked enough for the day and would have another chance tomorrow. Hopefully they would get many more chances in the future as well.

With a harsh shudder, Yukimura moved his head back briefly, then drove their lips together, open mouthed and urgent. Masamune submitted to the frenzied swipes of his tongue without protest, simultaneously inflaming his neglected desires again with an abrupt rock of his hips. Yukimura nipped at his lower lip and ground down against him, muffled whimpers and quick inhales brushing past his face like love bites.

In the meantime, he heard Yukimura distractedly scrabbling for something on the table and the plastic swish of a bag. Soon enough, Yukimura's slick fingers were pressing insistently against him. A hushed moan escaped him as they pushed inside and he arched his back shamelessly into them, pouring out his voiceless needs with twisted hands against Yukimura's back, writhing uncontrollably.

"Shit, Yukimura, _shit_," he choked. He felt unnaturally sensitive, most likely the result of having gone untouched for such a long span of time, or maybe it was the euphoria of Yukimura's return that was tricking him into feeling at a heightened degree. "_God_, just- _Fuck_."

Yukimura smiled with far too much fondness to be appropriate for the lewd scenario, especially with how it did not clear away the obvious _want_ in his eyes, but Masamune could not bring himself to complain. He was too distracted by those unfairly long fingers flexing and wringing inside of him, reaching, but not _enough_. No matter how hard he rolled his hips back on Yukimura's hand, he was not _satisfied_. He needed Yukimura, _all_ of him, needed to be _completed_ and _filled_ and purged of every void in his body. He was going to go mad with the sheer weight of his deprivation.

"No- No more," he managed to plead, distantly in awe at how Yukimura was the only one who had ever made him beg, ever reduced him to such a state that he _willingly_ handed out dependence on a silver platter. He tipped his head back in a muted shout as Yukimura mercilessly contorted his finger into another shape. "_Yukimura_, God, I need you _now_, fuck me _now_, I fucking swear I will murder you in your sleep, _Jesus_."

"I thought that you did not want me to pass away before you in this lifetime," Yukimura teased. Masamune was going to come up with a clever retort, except that now his lover was curling his finger and diving deep, deeper, _too_ deep, hitting something that made thunder crash in his ears and lightning blind him in the depths of his skull. His heels were gouging out craters in the couch as his body could not make up its mind whether he should escape the overwhelming pleasure for fear of losing his senses or greedily devour all that was given without a care for anything else.

Then without warning the pressure was removed and at _last_ the heat of Yukimura's cock was flush against him, being urged inside, and he welcomed the sensation of being permeated to his very core. Hissing, he wrapped his arms around Yukimura's broad shoulders, nails carving thin bands of magma into the crease of his lover's spine. Yukimura shuddered, anchoring teeth into Masamune's clavicle, as if to steady himself while he entered with a deliberately careful speed.

This only incited Masamune to start rutting against him, head tossed back carelessly, lips forced apart with the weight of oxygen on his tongue, trying to force the air into his throat before spitting it out again as soundless screams. "God- _damn_ you, _fuck_ me," he practically mouthed, the command once again falling more into the realm of a plea. "Yu- fuck me _now_."

Yukimura _shivered_ and the thrill of disturbing the focused conviction of his movements brought a brief grin to Masamune's face, but it was soon wiped clean when Yukimura _rammed_ into him. He was unforgiving, not a flicker of his previous uncertainty, even as the tears began to well in Masamune's eyes.

He was _drowning_ - drowning in _Yukimura_, drowning in the _euphoria_, drowning in the rush and pain and utter _pleasure_ as it _consumed_ him.

"Masa- mune," Yukimura gasped into his ear. "Please, I want- want to see you, _all_ of you, _please_." The hand that was not charring his thigh with its searing grip went to his eyepatch, and he almost flinched.

Despite his gut reaction to knee Yukimura in the face, Masamune nodded breathlessly. Yukimura was his equal in every way and, even more than that, he was the man he _trusted_ above all others, except perhaps Kojuro; this was a request he would meet to prove his feelings despite the stirrings of disgust, of _fear_, within him. Sliding his eyelids shut to signal that he was relinquishing control, he was aware of Yukimura's fingers hovering above his right eye.

"What're you waiting for, tiger?" he bit out between heavy exhales. "Not like you to be so hesitant."

Yukimura did not waste another second to carefully work the eyepatch off Masamune's face, and then it, too, was discarded on the floor. Cupping Masamune's face, he kissed the exposed eyelid lovingly.

"It is different from before," he murmured. "I remember the scars from the past well, but now they are gone."

"Born with it blind this time," Masamune replied softly. "It's not as nauseating since I didn't have to rip it out."

"It was never nauseating," Yukimura assured him. "It was a symbol of your will to live and a sign I most reverently respected. I could never find any piece of you grotesque."

Masamune opened his eyes (what a wonder to have both exposed to the sight of another, even when only one saw in return) and his chest constricted as he watched Yukimura's fond smile.

"You are beautiful," Yukimura continued simply. He brushed the edge of Masamune's right eye with his thumb. "I could imagine no pearl of greater value than the right eye of Oshu's beloved dragon."

Masamune had no response. Clinging to Yukimura, hands imprinted into his lover's back like tattoos, the hot venom of tears flared in his eyes again and the shaken whimper that escaped him was a sound more akin to that of a harmless gecko than a majestic dragon.

"Did I give you permission to stop fucking me?" he finally puffed out, feverish.

Yukimura laughed gently. "Please accept my apologies." Taking Masamune's right hand in his left, intertwining their fingers, he nuzzled at Masamune's neck affectionately. "I am afraid I will be unable to 'fuck you.' Would you instead agree to my offer to make love to you?" His hips were already rocking into Masamune with heavy strokes before he finished his sentence and Masamune's reply was smothered by a defenseless moan.

As they laid there on the couch, woven together, _indivisible_, Masamune wept. His tears fell with a calming silence, the quiet of dawn rather than dusk. Nothing was perfect; the dreams would return that very night and there were more than a fair share of trials awaiting them in the future. But in that moment, Masamune was at peace.

He drowned and drowned, but he could breathe through the water.

* * *

**A/N:** I know I promised a bonus chapter, but for some reason it's just not happening right now. I might pick it back up again someday, but at the moment this is a completed work.


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